THE PANCHRONICON PLOT 1
Chapter 1
Okay, so the President of the United States has gone completely cuckoo and you're the only one
who knows about it. On top of which, the Time Travel Overseeing Committee won't allow you to
use any of their machines. What would you do about it?
Probably just what Geer, the rumpled, frazzled little boss of the Wild Talent Division did on
that crisp autumn morning in September of 2021. He teleported out to the small coastal town of
Organic, California.
Organic is a deliberately rustic and quiet town in California North, about a hundred miles down
the coast from the state capital of San Francisco. The Vegetable Patch restaurant and market
consists of three seablue neoglass buildings, each roofed with slanting red shingles. The place sits
on a plateau a hundred feet above the Pacific and a narrow twist of sandy beach.
Geer, wearing one of his wrinkled 2-piece worksuits, came trudging up the ramp to the entrance
of the Vegetable Patch a few minutes after 10 AM, Pacific Rational Time. His hair was looking
especially frizzled and disordered, teleportation seemed to do that, and his slightly protruding eyes
had extra circles under them. Geer glanced back over his shoulder several times before pushing at
the door. "Don't be a yoohoo," he warned himself. "They're not on to you, not yet anyway."
Trying to avoid the eye of the slim brunette girl who stood in the kitchen doorway, Geer moved
to a table which would give him a view of the beach. There were a dozen or so other customers
scattered around, including a black man in a 1-piece lycra running suit who was sharing his
breakfast with his pet squirrel.
She saw Geer anyway. He could feel the recognition on the back of his neck. Nevertheless he
sat down, began fiddling with the menu dial. "Mother of mercy, what kind of yoohoo food do they
serve here? Carrot cakes? Squash toast? Pumpkin danish?"
"Go away."
Geer hunched, then turned to face the dark girl. "I have to talk to him."
"No, you don't. Jake doesn't work for you anymore, he's not a WTD agent anymore."
"Ah, now technically he is, Mrs. Conger," said Geer. "He's been on Temporary Retirement Pay
ever since that Sandman fiasco last—"
"I suppose you do consider it a fiasco," said Angelica Conger. "Since Jake decided to save my
life rather than—"
"I personally don't think it a fiasco, no," protested Geer. "I'm merely passing along the feelings
of some of the people at the United States Remedial Functions Agency. After all, like it or nay,
RFA can still tell the Wild Talent Division what to do. You don't realize how I had to romance
those RFA yoohoos to get Jake those checks."
"Yes, we appreciate that," said Angelica, sitting opposite the WTD boss. "We put most of the
money into our restaurant-market operation here. But, Mr. Geer, Jake doesn't—"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't make too much of my name. This visit isn't exactly clandestine,
but there's no need to—"
"All right, okay. We appreciate what you did. Could you leave now before Jake gets back?"